


Party Crash Blues (Defying Expectations)

by magickus



Category: ARMS (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Party Crash, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Robot Sex, Springtron has both, Wall Sex, because im not a coward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickus/pseuds/magickus
Summary: After a Party Crash, the loser is expected to perform one favor for the victor. So when Kid Cobra paired off with Springtron for his Party Crash debut, he prepared himself for the worst. He got the opposite.





	Party Crash Blues (Defying Expectations)

**Author's Note:**

> step one in my plot to get everyone to love springtron

After a Party Crash, the loser is expected to perform one favor for the victor. It's a customary, good-natured sort of thing, usually involving the loser embarrassing themself publicly (Lola made Misango dress like a clown and cameo in one of her performances, which was absolutely hilarious) or donating money to a charity. Between all the competitors, however, there's always a level of respect and unspoken boundaries in place.

So when Kid Cobra paired off with _Springtron_ for his Party Crash debut, he prepared himself for the worst.

He may be a newbie, but anyone with half a brain knows about the shady shit ARMS Labs got up to in their spare time, and that Springtron was their latest toy. He fought hard, the stakes high and overwhelming, but it seemed like whatever he did Springtron was always a step ahead. The guy was an absolute monster in the ring, terrifying and brutal. At least it was a close match-- Kid didn't think he could handle the embarrassment of getting his ass thoroughly handed to him.

He expected ARMS Labs to take over for the ‘favor'-- and hell if they didn't _try,_  but the League and head honcho Max Brass himself stepped in and insisted that Springtron decide for himself, which was fucking bonkers. What the hell would an unfeeling fighting machine want? As long as it kept Labs off his back, Cobra didn't care. He'd do it, just to show that he could, that he wasn't afraid of Springtron, or anything else.

Springtron asked for his _favor_. Quiet and out of the way, with an unexpected assurance that Kid Cobra didn't have to, and he could ask for something else. Even more surprising, Kid agreed, too damn stubborn for his own good. Arrangements were made and boundaries established and then the bot is knocking at his door in the small hours of the night.

He really should have more reservations about this, but it's far too easy to open his front door and step aside for Springtron. The robot strides inside, back straight and gaze unreadable, as always. Springtron is unarmed-- they both are, but Kid notes the location of his gloves, just in case this shitshow goes south-- and his fingers are curled into fists. They probably always are, since Springtron has this humming air around him that usually precedes a fight.

“Uh,” Kid Cobra says, and Springtron turns towards him after assessing his messy apartment. Usually it's a pigsty, but Kid will forfeit his snakeboard before he admits to _tidying up_. “Make yourself at home, I guess. I got like… batteries or something if you want a robot snack or some shit.”

The air is stifling and Springtron doesn't acknowledge his pisspoor attempt at small talk. The bot just… stares. Kid Cobra stares back until his eyes burn.

Like a whip, Springtron lashes out at him. Cobra shouts and stumbles back as the robot advances, until his back is flat to the wall and Springtron is _close._ That luminous aqua gaze pierces through him. It takes a lot of effort to keep his knees from trembling.

Springtron grabs Kid’s hips and his grip is bruising, the sort of force expected from someone without a shred of gentleness in them. Still, this is _his_ house, and favor or no favor he'll be damned if he just lies there and takes it.

His hands grip Springtron’s shoulders and flip their positions. He knows Springtron allowed the manhandling, since the guy weighs just short of a ton and knows how to use it.

The metal of his shoulders warms quickly beneath his touch. Kid Cobra stares at him. He stares back.

Cobra wonders what goes through Springtron's head as he peels off the robot’s tank top. Why the hell would a violent machine ask for something like _this?_ Why would he shudder beneath Kid’s fingertips, cool, smooth, lined with seams from his construction along where ribs should be. Why the _hell_ should a mindless creation from ARMS Labs be able to feel pleasure, to long for it enough to ask one of his competitors for some _contact?_

It's a lot of thinking, something that Kid Cobra isn't fond of in situations like these. He's not afraid to acknowledge that Springtron is hot, similar to Spring Man but hard and dangerous and intense. If Springtron wants him, fuck if he won't deliver.

He scratches his nails against those dark seams and Springtron makes this tinny noise. It's fascinating. Kid never imagined that a monster like Springtron would melt just from some heavy petting.

“That good?” he asks, leaning forward so the thickness of his voice vibrates against Springtron’s ear, or whatever he has. The robot nods and Kid can't resist the grin that curls his lips when Springtron shakes and clutches at his jersey. Luckily, his mask hides his growing excitement. Unluckily, his pants do a shitty job.

When Springtron grips tight enough to rip a hole in his shirt, he grasps those wrists and pins them to the wall. He binds them with one of his ARMS for good measure, scales coiled tight around powerful limbs like a constrictor.

Springtron looks up at him, continuing to tremble, uncharacteristically disheveled with his shirt pushed up to his torso. He's warm now, almost too warm, steaming from his vents and humming with power. Having Springtron at his mercy like this fogs up his head and makes him crazy. If Cobra isn't careful, he might become addicted.

He hums under his breath, presses closer, and when his thigh slots between Springtron's legs the hardness he finds throws him for a loop.

“No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, entering some state of shock as he shoves Springtron’s shorts to the floor. A chrome dick stares back at him, a bead of fluid gathered at the tip, rigid and ready to go. He wonders what kind of sick fuck at ARMS Labs gives a fighting bot a functioning dick (and doesn't mull on the implications right now). Kid Cobra laughs in hysteric disbelief and Springtron growls, metallic and dangerous, in response.

“No, not laughing at you,” he assures, eagerly wrapping his hands around that strange metal cock. It's hot and alien, smooth where a human dick isn't, but the reaction is the same, pulling something akin to a moan from the bot at his mercy. Curiously, his touch drifts further south. Springtron’s thighs widen to accommodate his exploration. His fingers find some sort of slit, soft and wet and pulsing hot.

This bot is just full of surprises.

“Holy shit,” Cobra gawks. “You have a-- oh _man._ Oh fuck.”

He can't contain himself. He drops to his knees and adjusts his mask. He swallows Springtron’s dick down in one go, smooth metallic head brushing the back of his throat, and that's _definitely_ a moan. Springtron tugs hard at his ARM, but it doesn't give (and he knows the bot could break out easily, that he doesn't _want_ to). Hips pulse against his mouth, tasteless fluid gathers on his tongue. One slender leg hooks around his shoulder and its immense weight nearly tips Kid over. He persists, pausing only to switch targets and shove his tongue against a pulsing clit. The sound of hissing hydraulics and Springtron’s ruined voice fills up his head and sends him spiralling.

“ _Fuck,"_ Cobra shoves one finger into Springtron's dripping pussy. The robot bucks and thumps his head against the wall and the moan he makes is fucking _musical._ “Yeah, that feel good? Shit, Tron, I'm gonna fuck you, spread you open on my dick--”

“ _Yes.”_

It's the first thing Springtron says to him all evening and it has him on his feet in a split second. Tron (the nickname stuck quickly) whines at the loss and Kid Cobra surprises them both by surging forward and kissing the smooth plane of his faceplate. The angles are awkward with his mask and he doesn't even know if Springtron can feel it but it's good and _right._

Kid spins Springtron around and presses his front to the wall, grasps his hips and hikes them up. From this angle he can see Springtron’s pussy perfectly, plush silicone glowing with a faint aqua light, like his eyes, with a perfect little clit topping it all off. With one hand Kid pushes down his shorts, the other spreads soft lips. He presses into a pulsing hole with his thumb, tugs it gently open, watches enraptured as it squeezes around nothing. If he didn't have better control over himself he would have come from the sight alone. Instead, he takes himself in hand and lines the head of his cock up with that lovely little hole, feels Springtron twitch. The bot glances back over his shoulder and Kid holds that vibrant gaze as he slides in, achingly slow, but _so_ worth it when he _sees_ the ecstasy in those normally stoic eyes. Searing jets of steam pulse from Tron’s vents, accompanied by rushes of air that sound almost like gasps. He spreads Springtron open, tight and wet and hot around the thick of his cock. He clenches metal hips, ARMS coiled twice around the slimness of his waist. Springtron takes him like a champ, head bowed, optics dimmed but still burning in the dark of his apartment. Kid Cobra hisses as he finally bottoms out in that beautiful tight heat.

“ _Move.”_

He doesn't hesitate, lost in the pleasure of it all. His hips pull back and snap forward, relentless and _fast_ and Springtron jolts with each movement, clenches and writhes around his dick like he was _made_ to take it.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kid gasps, his pace unforgiving for both of them, but he really doesn't care. “You’re so tight.”

“ _Ah!”_ Springtron cries out, and the intense vocalization of such raw pleasure makes him move harder, panting and growling as he pounds into the unmalleable form below him, so  _unforgettably_ Springtron that he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else even if he wanted to. He needs more, so much more, wants more of that rare voice, the darkness in those eyes, the pulsing, thrumming heat tight around his cock and turning his brain into static code, a sequence of ones and zeroes propelling him forward and back and forward and _shit, he's gonna blow._

“Gonna come,” he warns, and Springtron responds with a nod and a “ _nnh”_ and a “ _please_ ” and then the robot seizes, suddenly, body locking up _impossibly_ tight, and he's moaning so so loud and _fuck_ Springtron is coming. Kid swears he feels _sparks_ on his dick before his ecstasy hits its peak and with a hiss befitting his name he thrusts and spills himself _deep_ within pulsing heat. He can't think, can't do much of anything other than stand there and groan and come and come. His brain and his limbs are mush, and when Springtron falls like a sack of bricks he goes down with him.

He returns to himself very slowly. Below him, the blue of Springtron’s eyes brighten as he reboots.

They lie in a tangled mess for who knows how long. Springtron is warm _everywhere_ and Kid is reluctant to leave it. He can think now, and can't imagine it's in Springtron’s plans to stay. It takes a great amount of effort to separate himself from lovely warmth, and when he pulls out Springtron doesn't even twitch.

“Uh… Good?” he asks, sheepish in the afterglow. The realization that he just _fucked Springtron_ starts to sink in and he's just on the verge of losing his cool.

He's about to suggest he escort Springtron home or some other dopey awkward shit, but Springtron throws him another curveball by wrapping his arms around Kid’s middle. It's a little strange, having a ton of death machine snuggled up to him post-coidally, but he'd be lying if he said he hated it. So he does the natural thing and tucks one arm around the robot’s shoulder and basks in the moment.

He could get used to all these surprises, after all.


End file.
